


An Assembling Point for Heroes

by write_away



Series: We May Look Easy Pickings [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barricade Day, Gen, Kid Fic, the kids try to build a barricade with expected results
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_away/pseuds/write_away
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> They’ve barely finished arranging the dresser when the front door shuts. Courfeyrac scrambles through the tiny gap in their defense and slams the door. He’s just run from his watch station, and everyone freezes to watch him as he catches his breath with crazy curls and cheeks bright pink like the time his older sister tried to do his makeup.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Well?” Enjolras asks from his perch on top of the desk when the wait makes him too anxious to remember that patience is a virtue. His mother would be disappointed.</i></p><p>  <i>Courfeyrac leans against the door as if his weight alone will be enough to stop an attack. “He’s home,” he announces gravely.</i></p><p>  <i>The room bursts into action. <i></i></i></p><p>  <i><br/><i>It turns out that barricades aren't as successful as Enjolras would have thought.</i></i><br/><i><br/><i>(Though this work is in a series, it can be read independently)</i></i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	An Assembling Point for Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Almost a year later and I have another installment of the series! I thought Barricade Day was the perfect time to re-emerge, especially when I got the idea for the kid!Amis and their barricade. 
> 
> As usual, the other fics are not necessary to understand this one. I've taken a bit of a time jump - the kids are all around eight or nine here. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

They’ve barely finished arranging the dresser when the front door shuts. Courfeyrac scrambles through the tiny gap in their defense and slams the door. He’s just run from his watch station, and everyone freezes to watch him as he catches his breath with crazy curls and cheeks bright pink like the time his older sister tried to do his makeup.

“Well?” Enjolras asks from his perch on top of the desk when the wait makes him too anxious to remember that patience is a virtue. His mother would be disappointed.

Courfeyrac leans against the door as if his weight alone will be enough to stop an attack. “He’s home,” he announces gravely.

“He’s _back_ ,” Enjolras corrects sharply without thinking, because this isn’t _his_ home and it never will be. Not if Enjolras can do anything about it. Then, the gravity of Courfeyrac’s words truly register. “He’s back! Everyone, at your stations!”

The room bursts into action.

It’s Bahorel who pulls Courfeyrac to the safety of under the bed with Bossuet and Joly. Joly is has a cold and has been stifling sneezes for almost ten minutes, but Courfeyrac has extra tissues. He hands them over as he wedges himself into their huddle. Combeferre, the tallest, jumps forward to lock the door, then crouches with Jean behind the dresser, which has been moved to partially block the door so it only opens halfway. Grantaire sighs heavily and trudges to his spot, hidden in the closet behind all the hung clothes. He had told Enjolras that he’d rather go downstairs and have a snack than do this, because they were bound to get punished, but he had stayed anyway. Enjolras himself stays in place, completely visible, and aims his Nerf gun at the door. His hand only shakes a little under the pressure of silence.

His alarm clock over on the night table says only two minutes passes before a loud knock on the door almost startles the Nerf gun right out of his hand.

“Who’s there?” Enjolras demands. He steadies himself and double checks his supply of Nerf bullets that have been laid out in neat rows beside him.

“Just me,” Feuilly responds, and a shock of horror rushes through Enjolras. How could they have forgotten Feuilly? Combeferre is already crawling out of his hiding place to let him in.

“Come quick,” Enjolras urges, because the older boy is just peering inside at the maze of defense they’ve created out of books and toys and furniture instead of taking cover like he should. “Before he gets you.”

Combeferre slips behind Feuilly to push against his knees and force him inside before he shuts the door. He locks it again and retreats to the dresser.

Feuilly gapes. “What on Earth are you doing?” he asks when he seems to have found his voice. He tiptoes his way through the field of Legos between the door and the desk. “You do know that you’re going to have to clean this all up, right?”

Enjolras aims his gun, just in case. “We’re having a revolution,” he explains.

“It’s a stupid one!” Grantaire adds unhelpfully, rattling some hangers in defiance.

“Then go downstairs and give up!” Enjolras shouts back, agitated. He faces Feuilly again. “It’s really not stupid.”

Feuilly laughs, and it’s only the fact that he’s Enjolras’ favorite babysitter and the best foster brother ever that stops him from testing out his Nerf gun when he picks Enjolras up and sets him on the floor. “And what are you revolting against?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. It _should_ be obvious, but he guesses that these things aren’t as clear to high schoolers with _girlfriends_. Feuilly never seems to notice anything at home anymore, because he’s always out and kissing that girl who wrinkles her nose when Enjolras wants to watch a movie with Feuilly. Enjolras is a little worried that he’s going to get that oblivious one day, but he won’t let that happen.

“Javert is changing _everything_ ,” Enjolras explains, because maybe Feuilly just hasn’t been around enough to realize. Bedtime is different now that Javert’s moved in, and he’s not allowed to watch crime shows anymore even though he’s _nine_ and definitely mature enough even if he doesn’t always understand what’s going on, and last week Javert replaced his cookies with an apple when he tried to pick out snacks for lunch. Enjolras wants him to leave before it gets any worse. “So we’re going to change it back.”

Feuilly’s eyes always crease around the edges when he’s worried, but he doesn’t usually look so _sad_. He kneels down so they’re the same height and takes the Nerf gun out of his hand. “Enjolras. Your mom told me that you were talking to Mr. Valjean about this.”

“I am,” Enjolras lies, and he hears Bossuet stifle a laugh. Bossuet usually helps him skip his sessions with Mr. Valjean, but he doesn’t need to give it away. Enjolras resists the urge to glare at the bed while the others shush him. “I am talking to him.”

Feuilly doesn’t look like he believes him. “Look, Enjolras, I know it feels weird that your mom is dating your principal –”

“It _is_ weird.”

“- and I know that you and Javert have your… _differences,_ but I think that you should give him a chance.” Feuilly brushes Enjolras’ hair off his face, but it’s more of a gesture than a necessity now. Javert had convinced his mom to get him a haircut last weekend even though he likes his hair long. It was pretty much the last straw, in Enjolras’ opinion.

He pulls himself away and crosses his arms. “I don’t want to give him a chance. I hate him.”

“You shouldn’t –”

“Don’t tell me that hate is a strong word. I know.” Enjolras can see that Feuilly is trying to be a good role model, just like always, but he doesn’t want a good role model. He wants his friend on his side. He sighs. “Mr. Valjean told me.”

Joly, Bossuet, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel have crawled up to peek their heads out from under the bed, and Grantaire’s head is poking through a gap in Enjolras’ t-shirts. Jean and Combeferre have their lightsabers drawn but lowered.

Feuilly sighs and hangs his head in defeat. “I’m guessing they told you,” he intones.

Enjolras nods. He doesn’t want to cry, but he feels like he’s going to anyway. “At dinner last night. You were with your friends. _Like always_ ,” he adds, a little spiteful. His vision goes a little watery and he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, partly because he gave Joly all his tissues and partly because he knows it would annoy Javert. “I want you to be here, not _him_.”

“Enjolras,” Feuilly starts, and it sounds like he might cry too, except he’s interrupted by big, booming footsteps on the stairs that can only belong to one person.

“Javert!” Enjolras cries and yanks his Nerf gun out of Feuilly’s hands. He climbs back to his spot as fast as he can, and Courfeyrac hisses at Feuilly until he obliges and gets under the desk. Grantaire pops back into hiding and everyone else draws their weapons.

“Boys!” Javert always calls for them like it’s a command. He’s right outside the door, and Enjolras can’t help but hold his breath. This is it. Maybe it’ll work. Maybe he’ll be such a terror that Javert will stop hoping to make him good. Maybe Javert will get so angry that he’ll leave and never come back and he won’t marry Enjolras’ mom and that stupid ring can go in the trash.

It worked in _Nanny McPhee,_ at least.

“Boys,” Javert says again, rapping on the door. Enjolras’ gut is coiled in terror. What if it _doesn’t_ work? What if he just gets mad? What if his mom gets mad? What if he’s never allowed to play with his friends again? He’s suddenly not sure he wants to be a revolutionary anymore. “Jean has to go now. His mother is here to pick him up.”

“No!” Bahorel shouts and sends a volley of Nerf darts at the door. They stick to Enjolras’ world map triumphantly.

“Don’t waste them!” Courfeyrac chides, and Joly sneezes so hard that Bossuet jumps and hits his head.

The doorknob rattles vigorously. “Did you lock this door, Enjolras?” Javert questions. “You know you’re not allowed to do that.”

“I’m not allowed to do anything,” Enjolras mumbles indignantly.

“Enjolras,” Javert says like he’s about to scold, then stops.  “Feuilly, I know you’re in there. Would you please let Jean out? His mother is waiting for him.” He asks pleasantly enough, but Enjolras doesn’t want to let Jean go. It’s like admitting defeat to lose a man so early in the afternoon. They haven’t even had their snacks yet.

Before Feuilly can even move, Jean stands up and hands his lightsaber to Combeferre. “It’s okay,” he reassures Enjolras. He’s standing at his full height, all of four feet tall and bravado. “I’ll go. ‘Sides, Mom is making mac n’ cheese tonight. Combeferre, can you get the lock?”

Combeferre looks to Enjolras for counsel.

“He says he’ll go,” Enjolras says in lieu of a real response. He’s proud of Jean, because facing Javert right now is a terrifying proposition, but the boy has made a choice and he won’t take that away. Besides, if he misses dinner, then they’ll really be in trouble. “Good luck, Jean.”

Jean waves, head high as he slips through the gap. Enjolras catches a glimpse of Javert before Combeferre shuts and locks the door again – he looks furious. He must have seen the barricade.

“Say goodbye, Jean,” Javert says, and he doesn’t _sound_ angry, but Enjolras knows it’s an act. It _does_ sound a little bit like a threat.

“You can do it!” Jean shouts. “See you Monday!”

They can hear him being led away.

It’s simply a matter of time before the others start to go. Bahorel has karate lessons at five. Combeferre gets taken home to practice piano, even though he wrinkles his nose and complains. Bossuet’s parents are going out, so he needs to go home before the babysitter gets there, and Joly isn’t even supposed to be over because of his cold. Bossuet’s dad tells Joly’s dad, though, so it’s all over for him, and he is sent across the street to go to bed. Feuilly leaves to say hi to Courfeyrac’s older sister when she comes to pick him up and neither return. Enjolras gives up on locking the door – he’s too short to reach the lock without a stool, and the stool is buried somewhere under other defenses. He leaves it slightly open.

He’ll have to face his mom and Javert eventually.

With a grudging sigh, he throws his Nerf gun to the side and sits down on the desk to wait for dinnertime. All that's left is the mess of his belongings and a pile of weapons on the ground - two lightsabers, a slingshot, another Nerf gun, and two Nerf swords. He’s sure Javert told his mom about the mess and the revolution - _he_ probably called it a rebellion - and he’s sure he’ll get a lecture and he’s sure he’ll be grounded for at least a week.

And then they’ll get married and everything will change even more and it’s just not fair that Enjolras doesn’t get a say, it’s just _not_ , and he doesn’t know when he started crying, but the tears are streaming down his face now, angry and hot, because his friends are probably all in trouble for nothing and he shouldn’t have gotten them into this mess because that’s all it really it and -

“Enjolras?” Grantaire says through a yawn as he stumbles out of the closet. “Did everyone go home?”

Enjolras is so startled that he almost falls off the desk. Truthfully, he had forgotten that Grantaire had even come over to help. “Did you fall asleep?’ he asks, noting the rumbled shirt and glazed eyes.

Grantaire nods and blinks a few times. “Only for a little bit,” he says, but it must have been for longer if he hadn’t noticed _everyone_ leaving. He’s staring attentively until Enjolras realizes that he’s still half-sobbing and hurriedly wipes his cheeks off.

“I’m okay,” he lies and sniffles a little bit. “Really. I just...” He shrugs and looks away. “You’re right, it was stupid.”

Grantaire keeps on staring. “You did a good job,” he finally says when he breaks his gaze, looking around the room. It sounds a little grudging, but also like it has a little awe. “I couldn’t’ve planned all this.”

Enjolras shrugs. “It didn’t work.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, except it sounds like _no duh_. “That’s cuz you don’t make _barricades_ for _boyfriends_. You make barricades for _other things_.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Grantaire bites on the bottom of his lip and chews like he does during math class when he’s thinking. “I dunno. But not for boyfriends. Especially not boyfriends your mom likes.” He wrinkles his nose. “Even if it’s Mr. Javert.”

“I guess,” Enjolras concedes. An uncomfortable silence falls over them. Enjolras and Grantaire don’t fight as much as they used to, but they don’t play much by themselves either. “When’s your mom gonna pick you up?” he asks.

Grantaire shrugs. “Dunno. Soon?” He shifts in place, deftly avoiding stepping on a Barbie’s head and a toy car in socks. “You think they’re gonna yell at you?”

Enjolras nods grimly.

“Maybe they won’t yell if I’m still here?” Grantaire suggests, face turning bright red. “I mean. Uh. Maybe I could stay for a little while? I could sit with you and keep you company and we can play and -” He breaks off, suddenly hopeful. “If that’s okay with you?”

Enjolras smiles so wide that his cheeks hurt and holds out his hand to help Grantaire onto the desk.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is the greatest, and I love hearing from you guys. 
> 
> (The title is from the quote: "These great revolutionary barricades were assembling points for heroism")


End file.
